1,460 Days and Counting...

Sam and I had only been dating a couple months when we broke up for the first time. We were both prideful and stupid (mostly Sam) and couldn't quite get on the same page.

I remember, after each date, specifically thinking, "Ok, that's the last time I'm gonna go out with him. That was for sure the last time." And I'd puff up my chest and announce to my friends that I wasn't going to hang out with Sam Palmer anymore. And then he'd call me. And my eyes would glaze over and I'd go all "I will kill Frank Drebin" and walk to his apartment.

But finally, I stuck to my guns and we decided to just be friends.

Our "friendship" lasted about three weeks. During those weeks my high school sweetheart-turned-missionary returned home, and I also met and became involved with another young man. I felt serious about the potential of both relationships, and had convinced myself that Sam wasn't the one for me.

In an awkward happenstance, on the evening of Sunday, April 17th, 2005 both my missionary and the new boy I was dating ended up at my apartment at the same time. Missionary arrived first and I didn't know what the crap to do when, shortly after, there was a knock at the door and New Boy bounded in. I soiled my drawers on the spot. And contemplated a fake seizure.

Neither of them really knew who the other was, so I played it cool and introduced them and we spent the next hour or so in a weird sort of suspicious, confused conversation limbo... with me acting like both of them were just buddies of mine so we could technically all be hanging out together. At one point I even pretended to fall asleep.

Maybe if I sit REALLY still, they won't see me. Like T-Rex.

It was a little after 10:00PM when I got a text from Sam asking if we could talk. Ummm, SOLD. Our interactions up to this point hadn't been exactly cordial... and Sam was "Mr. Cool" so him reaching out in this way was a big deal.

So, I left.

And New Boy and Missionary stayed in my apartment. By themselves.

I still get a pit in my stomach when I think of it. But I secretly look up to my single self for being so fabulously beyotchy and bad-A in the name of love.

When I got to Sam's apartment, we fought and cried and laughed and confessed the love. He explained all the I'vebeenafraidyou'dhurtmeI'mscaredoflove adorable reasons he had been acting like such a putz. Which, of course, is manspeak for, "you made me jealous, so I've come to pee on you and mark my territory."And I got all giggly and forgave him instantly.

And we never looked back. And I knew we would be together forever. Because in the company of two men I cared deeply for, one word from Sam sent me running. And we've been running together ever since. From the law.

We were married in the Mount Timpanogos temple 4 years ago today.

Now for the real point.

Sam is the best man I have ever known. He is tender and brilliant and funny. He is the keeper of my secrets and defender of my weaknesses. He is my best friend, the lover of my soul, and the absolute man of my dreams.

Then:

(Actual photo from that fateful morning. I'd been up all night. Don't be judgy)

We made it official:

4 years into it:

Ok, ok, really:

To come:

Happy 4 years, my love.

**Whatever happened to "New Boy" and "Missionary"? Well, in a startling conclusion to this story, when I returned home 4 hours later they were both still in my apartment... spooning on the couch... Just kidding. But they WERE still there. Snoozing away. Ouch. I'm happy to say they are now both happily married.